


The Storm

by CmonCmon



Series: Raising Warriors [31]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Clone Mom and Clone Dad, F/M, Family Feels, Oya Vode Day, Pudding Cups, Rancor Feels, Star Wars AU - Soft Wars, brothers being brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29843856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CmonCmon/pseuds/CmonCmon
Summary: The long-awaited storm comes to Kamino. Rancor is prepared.
Relationships: Colt/Shaak Ti
Series: Raising Warriors [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835518
Comments: 33
Kudos: 115
Collections: Open Source Soft Wars





	The Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/gifts), [Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/gifts).
  * Inspired by [March Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546811) by [CmonCmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CmonCmon/pseuds/CmonCmon). 



> Rancor waits for the moment to set off Oya Vode on Kamino.
> 
> Go read how OVD happened in the rest of the galaxy in [Soft Wars](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775). So many thanks to Projie for this universe to play in.
> 
> As always, huge thanks to [PrimaryBufferPanel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/works) for being an amazing beta!

“And those are just venators in the first round of pickups. Dozens more en route.” Cody read the list off the datapad, frown on his face. “To pick up troopers for their deployments.”

“Rancor is in position to load up troopers with all necessary speed,” Colt reported. “Any delay in the loading process, Commander Blitz assures me, would read to an abundance of battleships in orbit at the same time.”

“That’s right, Marshal Commander.” Blitz’s bucket was still on, but Colt could hear the teeth in his hidden grin. “Any  _ significant  _ delay would lead to Kamino practically becoming blockaded by Republic ships.”

Which would be enough to tip the balance of power if they ran into resistance on-planet during load up. Blitz was particularly proud of that detail.

“Sounds like Rancor’s assessed every potential obstacle.” The gaze of Cody’s holo-form swept over the gathered Rancor Command, hesitated for a moment on Shaak. 

“The General has been made aware of all upcoming troop movements,” Colt spoke before Cody could ask.

“Marshal Commander, I assure you I will assist Rancor in all forthcoming challenges that may arise.” Shaak was perfectly composed as she answered. Her fingers shaped  _ kote  _ on the edge of the holotable. Colt felt that kick through his system. He knew she was on their side but he hadn’t expected her to declare it to Cody.

“Thank you, Master Ti.” The Vod’alor’s voice was warm, pleased, and Colt felt his breath catch. “It’s good to know you will be with us for such a pivotal period.”

“I cannot think of a better use of my time.” Shaak didn’t turn to him, but Colt felt the brush of her mind against his in reassurance. 

“Then I’ll leave you all to the rest of your planning.” Cody saluted, and Rancor saluted in return.

Before Colt could redirect their meeting to ‘Emergency Storm Preparedness’ - the cover Rancor had been using to amass supplies for their departure - Blitz and Havoc were around the ends of the holotable and to Shaak’s side.

Maybe he should have explained his talk with their Jedi more fully, but Colt had assumed one mention that Shaak had been fully briefed on the matter leading into the holocall would have been enough.

Instead, Colt’s ARC Commanders did not hesitate for a moment before wrapping her into a hug. He saw Shaak’s surprise at the gesture. Even as they’d grown to be friends, his men had always tried to keep some polite distance from the General. If that was out of respect for her or their relationship, Colt had never been sure.

“Thank you, General.” Havoc squeezed her and didn’t pull back.

“Knew you’d be with us, sir.” Blitz told her, without letting go. Colt could feel the smugness in the glance Blitz turned his way.

“Gentlemen.” Shaak hugged them both in return, voice sure but watery as the surface of Kamino. They finally untangled themselves from around her. “I believe we have a surprise tsunami drill to plan for?”

*

“I don’t want to know.” Hammer cut Web off before he could open his mouth.

_ Fair enough. _ Web wasn’t the kind of vod who wasted his breath on an unappreciative audience. He’d only gotten through the door to the back of the storeroom and he was already getting shit from an LT.

“All three?” Hammer looked pretty interested for a vod who didn’t want to know. 

Web shrugged a shoulder. “That was the mission.”

“At three at once?”

Web’s look was drier than Tattooine. Before Hammer could ask  _ another _ question he didn’t want the answer to, they were joined by one half of the best quartermaster duo in the GAR.

“That’s them, huh?” Scratches looked over the soft-sided pouch with a critical eye. “Now, I’m not saying I’m disappointed.” He flipped the flap on the pouch open to get a better look. “Just saying I don’t see how  _ these _ made  _ us _ .”

“Vod.” Hammer flipped the flap back in place. “Don’t go flashing them around.”

Scratches slid the pouch back in front of himself and unpacked it on to the counter. “Do you think we’d be here if the cams were not strategically placed?” 

Web thought  _ his _ look was cutting. He was never getting on the quartermaster’s bad side.

Scratches turned one capsule over in his hands. “How’d you get them out?” 

“Now, that’s a good story…” Web leaned an elbow on the counter just to watch Hammer bury his face in his hands.

“That so?” Scratches’ hands never stopped moving, setting up a hardsided case like the dozen lined against the wall.

“We aren’t supposed to know about this.” Hammer already knew he’d lost the battle.

Scratches held up the pouch. “We know about this.”

“You know Reddie?” Web asked, and waited long enough for Scratches to shake his head. “Real smart vod, works over in the facility. He’s been keying the templates in and out for six months to keep the tubes moving. Thing is, Reddie worked part of the overhaul after the attack and knows what triggers the alarm isn’t the template missing, it’s the empty slot in the storage system.”

“So what did he put in there?” Hammer was very bad at this game.

“Reddie, he’s batchers with Pom.” Web’s smile was sharp.

“Pom handles kitchen orders.” Scratches explained, real off-handed as he cozied the capsules into snug cutouts and lined the rest of the case with the datapads that contained a copy of every bit of proprietary information Reddie could find about using the template and the edits.

“What’s he got to do with the dummy capsule?”

“Know how Command got fresh bantha steaks last tenday?” Web had heard all about that from Poms, not that he had been invited to share.

Hammer shrugged. “Sure, the General said it was to commemorate a festival on Shili. General Ti asked for bantha steak specifically.”

“Asked for fresh bantha meat for the mission, more like. Those tubes they’ve been filling for the last tenday are going to get pretty crowded when the snakes learn they’re growing banthas and not vod’ikase.”

“Cloned banthas,” Hammer repeated under his breath. “Bantha-vode.”

That was not the reaction Web had been expecting. 

It was going to make an  _ amazing  _ story to tell on the way home.

*

“Worst case, do you know what you’re doing?” 

Pots was a good vod. A real good vod, and a great CMO.

But he could be a real pain in the shebs.

“Any tubies over two months experiencing a medical emergency can be decanted and taken into the medbay. Procedures noted here.” Baar tapped twice on the top data pad on the stack to his left. “Any tubies younger than that will require tube maintenance called in.” He held up his hand before Pots could go on. “I have read the manuals. Every medic has. We know basic system repairs but know that tank specialists will be on call on every transport.”

“What about the vod’ikaade?” Pots snatched up one of the data pads and began to scroll through. 

“Already set. 99 has everything he needs and space has been set aside. They aren’t freshly decanted anymore.” They were practically First Cycle now, for all Rancor acted like they had been gathered up yesterday. “Provisions have been made for every transport. We are prepared for everything from scraped knees to cardiac arrest. You wrote the karking manuals yourself.”

Somewhere in the middle of that, Baar’s voice rose in the most medic-like ways of being completely ticked off while sounding incredibly reasonable. 

The door to the medics office hushed open before either Pots or Baar were ready to interact with anyone non-medic.

“What?” they snapped in unison at the vod blessed with the very worst timing.

“I can come back later.” Blitz said from the doorway, hands up defensively.

Pots let out a long breath, giving Baar his most assessing gaze. “No, we’re all set here.” The CMO clapped Baar on the shoulder before shoving the stacks of datapads at him. “Read them again.”   
Baar couldn’t completely hide his smile. “Yes, sir.”

Pots grumbled under his breath before pinning his gaze on Blitz - one of the few Rancor vode jare’la enough not to visibly shrink from it. “What do you need, ARC Commander?”

“I had a few questions....”

Baar hadn’t seen much combat, but he knew when to make a tactical withdrawal.

*

Havoc wasn’t really into stealth. It wasn’t his area of specialization, and it thankfully wasn’t his mission. 

That didn’t mean there wasn’t a certain enjoyment out of the wide-eyed, muttered “oh, shit” from the fourth-cycle cadets who keyed open the door to the stashroom Rancor knew  _ absolutely nothing _ about.

They were in about as good shape as they usually were, which was enough to put Havoc’s teeth on edge. He’d spent a cycle with Vau as a cadet and while Colt had done his best to put the shabajur in his place, that didn’t stop Dred Priest, Isabet Reau, and Cort Davin from being as bad as they always were, whatever Prime’s big statement of fighting Priest for the cadets’ sake was worth.

“Excuse us, sir. We were just on patrol.” They were Priest’s cadets, all leashed fury and vicious, weaponized charm their trainer enjoyed.

Havoc knew full well this room was never on any patrol, and he knew why. The durasteel shelving was packed with smuggled sweets, contraband holos, and bacta that escaped medical bays.

The room might be off the CC patrols, but it was on Rancor’s, and if sometimes a spare case of pudding cups or a box of bacta patches shook loose and ended up on the shelves, it was just the nature of these sorts of things.

“We’ll leave you to it, sir.” The cadet saluted, waving his brothers out the door.

“Not so fast.” He pinned them with the buir-glare Colt had somehow been decanted with and then rest of them had developed by proximity. “In here. And shut the door.” Havoc’s tone did not allow for negotiation.

That set all three of them on edge, which they mostly disguised under layers of insouciance and bluster. They did what he asked, but they didn’t like it. The wrong word, the wrong move, and they’d lock down. They’d fit their sharp edges together, shoulder to shoulder and form a barricade he could spend all night talking at without a single word getting through. 

The standoff lasted for long heartbeats. 

“What can we do for you, sir?” 

He knew the cheeky one. It was hard to say he ended up in medical more than the others, that was probably a tie, but he talked the most for sure. They didn’t look too bad, so Havoc figured they hadn’t come for the bacta stash.

“They’re moving.” Havoc weighed the silence that greeted his words. The best way to get the message to all the CC cadets was to get it to the ones who already were used to breaking the rules, who survived by walking their own line. For that, Priest’s lot was the best. They were undeniably good at what they did, and they had been taught to be unrelenting, built to be weapons aimed and fired at targets.

“Soon?” 

The question was wide-eyed, guileless. Hopeful.

They might be trained weapons, but they were still little brothers. 

“Soon.” Havoc nodded, biting back a smile of his own. “Real soon. And we’re going to need your brothers ready.”

That got them back on familiar terrain. Bodies shifted into confident, cocksure poses. Three smiles, hardly more than bared teeth, answered him. 

“Decanted ready, sir.”

Thing was, he wasn’t wrong. 

“Know you were, vod’ikase.” Havoc held out the datapad. “Make sure every brother has their assignments tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” They promised.

“Oya.” Havoc nodded once. 

They bent unpracticed fingers into the sign that now meant victory.

Havoc let himself out of the stashroom Rancor knew absolutely nothing about.

  
  


*

There were four hardsided cases left waiting under the counter Nicks lived behind. They looked like weapons cases, or tech cases, or maybe medical cases. They could have anything inside, and they were sitting around like forgotten cargo. Hidden in plain sight, that was what Scratches had promised. 

Quartermasters were the mysterious sort, with things no one ever knew they had stashed in places no one else would ever find.

“Running out of time to get those moving.” Hammer wasn’t counting the minutes like some of his brothers were, but he could feel it getting closer like the battlefield under a descending lartie. Hammer gestured at everything. “Shouldn’t you be…?”

_ Doing something. _

The waiting was harder than the planning had been, and the planning had been worse than writing up logistics plans for a full planetary operations.

But there was only so much they could do until the signal. Only so many things could be dismissed as surprise inspections and preparation for troop deployments. Packing the quartermasters’ stockrooms and carting it down to the loading dock might count as suspicious.

But four matching cases being carried out might get the wrong people wondering what’s in them and just how many cases they should be looking for. The plan was meant to be a misdirection, where catching one case might make the snakes think they foiled the plan. Every one of them contained something important, but only one of them contained something that they wouldn’t leave without.

And unless Hammer had lost track of which of the matching cases was which, and he knew he hadn’t, the one every vod on the planet would die to keep away from the snakes was still sitting under the counter.

The door wooshed open, and only a lifetime of practice at looking like he had definitely been doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing  _ sir _ — kept Hammer’s hand from dropping to his blaster. It was late, nearly lights out for all the cadets, but the one who approached had absolutely not come from a late training sim or lesson. 

He was bruised, dirt-splattered, and looked like absolute osik.

“CC-6975, returning mission gear, Sir.” The cadet spoke only to Nicks, seemingly realizing Hammer was there long moments later, stiffening even further if it was possible as he loaded his gear onto the counter to return it. Reflexes seemed slow, but Hammer couldn’t tell if it was whatever put that bruise on the side of his face or the lack of sleep that put the dark circles under his eyes.

Either ways, he ought to get looked at by a medic, and Hammer would have said as much if he hadn’t figured out why first. “You’re Davin’s.”

He’d seen the vod’ika train, the hawkbatshit kind of rigorous that shabuir trainers like Davin believed  _ built character _ . Nicks looked over to him, hells, maybe he was having the same thought. 

Havoc had tapped Priest’s cadets to get the word out because they were just the right mix of competent and feral. Davin’s cadets though, they were made of different stuff. There wasn’t a cadet more steady and capable than one who had spent his cadethood surviving that shabuir. 

“Yes, sir.” There was just a flash of something hard in the cadet’s gaze, something beskar under the layers of worn-down exhaustion. 

Nicks pushed the hand blaster back across the counter. “Keep that with you.”

“You know…” The quartermaster flashed one sharp smile Hammer’s way. “Pass that over here.”

After all, who would think to check a cadet’s bag for something so vital? They shoved in everything they thought the vod’ika would need into the pack before buckling it shut.

“Put this somewhere safe.” Hammer handed the bag over. “Keep the blaster out of sight.”

There was nothing more Rancor could do to keep the vod’ika safe, to make sure he got a warm meal and enough hours in a bunk. The only thing Rancor could do to protect the cadets was execute the plan. Then their little brothers would be truly safe.

The waiting was always the hardest part

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to make sure we see everyone for OVD. If there's anyone you think I might miss, give a shout. It's a three-parter (I think) all told like the Battle of Kamino was in "Tipping Points" so there's lots of story to go around.


End file.
